


The Magical Theory

by loveroftherussianqueen



Category: Avengers, Kiki's Delivery Service
Genre: Alternate Universe - Kiki's Delivery Service, Crossover, Hayao Miyazaki, M/M, Magic, Tony doesn't like magic, scienceboyfriends, wizard!Bruce
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-03
Updated: 2012-09-20
Packaged: 2017-11-13 11:16:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveroftherussianqueen/pseuds/loveroftherussianqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce is a wizard. Thor is a cat. Clint and Phil have a bed and breakfast for 'unique' individuals. Steve still draws, and Tony still hates magic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone may wholeheartedly blame a very lovely and delightful feriowind.tumblr.com for this.
> 
> Oh, Miyazaki. Look at your creation now. AND WEEP.

Bruce didn't like brooms.

They were uncomfortable; the splinters, the lack of available sitting space, the hay that pricked and poked you in the face and somehow always managed to get behind your glasses when you tried to carry the thing, all of it. Bruce just didn't like them.

It was unfortunate that his main source of transportation was one, then.

"Bruce," Natasha said quietly, standing beside him as he eyed the broom in his hand with obvious distaste. "Just get on the broom."

"But it's-"

"It's this or walking."

He glanced out to the dark street from their spot hidden partway in a deserted alley, the streetlamps flickering sickly yellow that barely illuminates the darkness that clings to the sidewalk and buildings, its weak light just barely casting shadows against boarded up windows and nailed shut doors that were kicked open and left destroyed.

Somewhere too nearby for comfort, trashcans were tipped, the crash of metal and garbage followed closely by a hushed, harshly whispered argument that quickly escalated into shouts and yells.

Resigned, Bruce mounted the broom, feeling the end dip slightly as Natasha leaped nimbly onto it to then reach his shoulders, settling her weight across them and curling her tail around his neck.

"Fly," he sighed, and kicked off into the air.

It wasn't as if he didn't care for the act of flying itself; far from it. Flying was invigorating--freeing, in many aspects.

That suspended moment in air, where gravity still has a hold and he's being dragged back to the earth, so heavy and falling almost as if in slow motion, just before the magic takes over and he's off and weightless. That didn't mean it wasn't uncomfortable, though; he understood that brooms were a very well beloved and cherished traditional transportation among witches and users, understood the need for tradition, really, he did, but couldn't tradition be comfortable?

...And this was ridiculous. He had more important things to be thinking, _worrying_ about than his uncomfortable crooked broom he never got around to sanding or working on or upgrading. It was all he found he could think about though, and that might possibly have something to do with the last forty eight hours he'd spent awake with barely a nap to keep him going.

"Pay attention!" Natasha scolded sharply near his ear, snapping him from his thoughts with a jolt that sent them jerking harshly towards the left.

He took a cloud to the face, glasses immediately fogging and clothes drenched through in seconds. Natasha hissed louder in displeasure, leaping from her perch around his shoulders to coil herself in the space between backpack and shoulder blades. It was a cloudy night, the silver-white wisps in the sky offering a drizzle at best, but the breeze that gently whipped around him had him shivering hard, wet jacket doing nothing to stop the unexpected bite of chill.

Behind him, he could feel Natasha curl herself up tightly.

"I'm sorry?" He offered. She moved, and he could feel her unimpressed stare drill holes in the back of his head; reflexively, his shoulders hunched.

They flew on in silence, periodically shivering as the cold night air slowly dried them. Below, the beaten and sad excuse for a town they'd taken residence in for a few days slowly began to melt away into a more lively and brightly lit city until Bruce could barely make out the stars above him.

Soon enough even the city lights began to dim, only the occasional pinpricks of light dotting across the city giving way to farmland lighting up below interrupted by fields, golden and lush green muted in the darkness stretching for miles. The long expanse of earth uninterrupted by big steel and concrete buildings below had as close to peace as he could get at the moment settling into his tired muscles, making them heavy. For a brief moment, the feeling persists, and it's almost as if he's being dragged down; but no, he's still suspended, still flying, and if he does a little dip after jerking his head back up and blinking his eyes awake, well, no one is around to notice.

There was still so much to do, but the quiet that had fallen was wearing down on him--his eyelids felt heavy, and even with his glasses wiped clean his vision was beginning to blur.

"Bruce," Natasha said quietly behind him. "We need to find some place to sleep."

When he didn't reply, or make any real move to find shelter--even out in such a near unpopulated area--she dug her claws very pointedly through his jacket.

"I-ow, Natasha! Alright, I'll... Look for a barn." Because who would take in a wet traveler carrying a cat and an over sized broom?

He found one, if only after she flexed the claws still embedded in his skin.

It wasn't anything terribly huge, more a warehouse for the farming equipment covered in a minute layer of hay, but he very carefully unlatched the top window and crawled in, nearly bobbling both his broom and Natasha trying to squeeze through.

It's not warm, and what little actual hay there is smells almost like mold, but Natasha has already uncoiled herself from him and is stretching herself out by the edge of the floor near the ladder leading to their little loft.

"Want me to take the first-" Bruce begins guiltily. The look she sent him was patient and just a tad condescending; he was too tired to comment on her patronizing, though he did try to crack a weak attempt at a smile.

"Go to sleep," Natasha gently ordered. "You're worthless sleep deprived."

"Sweet talker," he muttered sleepily, already curling up in the driest hay he could find. The mold smell is replaced by mustiness, but he can't find it in himself to care as he turns his face into it and just lets himself float.

From her watch-out by the ladder, Natasha purred gently.

Bruce fell asleep with his last thought being the details for a new broom running through his mind.

He woke fifteen minutes later(which he knew because he was still dead tired, eyes gritty and burning when they snapped open even though only minutes later he was wide awake) to the instinctual knee jerk reaction that something was inexplicably _wrong_.

"Nat-" he began, and that was as far as he got right before the window he had crawled through exploded open, something huge and cursing whizzing in with a crash of limbs and goddamn hay.

There's the sound of a cat yowling, but Bruce knows it isn't Natasha, she's already pressing her flank against his leg, emerging from the shadows with her hackles raised and her teeth bared at the tangled pile of limbs and cloth.

His heart is pounding a hard rhythm against his ribs, adrenaline coursing through his veins. It's hard to focus, harder still to move his limbs so he can scramble up to get to his broom that he, well, he holds in front of him like a weapon, like he's about to use his only way to travel to beat whoever and whatever managed to tumble their way in into submission.

It's not a good plan, but he's desperately trying to control the rolling nausea in his stomach that's a good hint he's tiptoeing dangerously near that line.

The cursing stops, and the silence is distinctly expectant.

"...Are you going to hit me with that, or would you rather wait until I stand?" A voice drawled sarcastically. The odd, almost grotesquely shaped bundle was half exposed from what little moonlight was let in from the open window.

Bruce could just barely make out a leg, a pale hand that peeked out from under the dark fabric before shoving it out of the way. The boy--he can't be much older than Bruce, he dimly realizes--is scowling and looks downright furious, eyes narrowed to slits and mouth thinned in displeasure.

Without him consciously realizing it, he's already lowering the broom.

"Oh, good. Good, you won't beat me to death then." The boy says, pushing himself up into a sitting position. "Such a relief, really, thank you."

Very carefully Bruce lowers the broom to his side, bristles scraping the ground. After a moment, he sits down in the hay and tries not to sneeze from the dust that rises. Natasha doesn't move but to lower herself closer to the ground, ears laid back and a yowl working in her throat. They don't actually say anything for a few moments after that, which he gets the feeling that the boy was thankful about; his chest was heaving as if he'd just run a marathon.

It was only broken when, beside the stranger, his bag began to move. Natasha kicked up the growl.

When a calico furry head popped out, Bruce blinked slowly.

"We have made it!" The feline said happily, shaking its head once before clawing its way out.

Bruce- well, he stares. He may be awake and somewhat alert, but honestly, his brain is churning about as fast at the moment as a swim through molasses on a cold day.

"I can hear him," Bruce points out, because the obvious is all he can really grasp at this moment.

The look the other boy sends him tells him exactly what he thinks of that astute observation.

"Thor," the boy says in clear exasperation. "Shut up."

So instead the calico takes it upon himself to begin sniffing everything, sneezing periodically in rapid succession every few minutes. When he got to Natasha, however, never even hesitating in his blatant excitement, he got a hiss for his troubles and a quick swipe of claws.

"Natasha," Bruce chastised, though it was without any real feeling, and then turned his attention back to the boy.

"Um," he begins hesitantly, and the boy looked up from shaking out what he now sees is a cloak.

"Yes?" He asked curtly.

"You're a... Wizard," he said, looking pointedly at the sleek broom balancing precariously on the edge of the loft.

"So?"

Bruce breathed deeply, eyelids already feeling heavy again. "I'm Bruce," he introduced tiredly, and nodded toward the dark feline watching Thor sniff near her warily. "That's Natasha."

But he wasn't looking at where Natasha was cautiously beginning to sniff back at the enthusiastic Thor. Instead, his eyes were drawn to the broom laying by Bruce's side, flickering up once before turning away back to his cloak.

"Loki."

"Nice to meet you." And, hell, the guy didn't look that tired. He should probably be more wary about this, but it literally feels as if he's about to pass out--he wishes he could keep awake, wishes he could give Natasha the benefit of his vigilance, but she was right; he was worthless as he was now, strung out and so exhausted his eyes were already falling shut and he was slowly slumping against the wall. "You can keep first watch."

"...What?"

But he's already gone.

The next time that Bruce wakes up, he feels sore and achy but so deliciously over rested that there's no way he's getting back to sleep. That alone wouldn't have stopped him from trying, but he has no idea where Natasha is--his pack and broom are still there, but the boy and his cat and _Bruce's cat_ are gone.

His heart is just beginning to pound when he hears the familiar coolly detached tone. "Bruce! Wake up, come down here."

She doesn't sound hurt. He eyes the pile of hay, but he's already heading towards the edge.

" _Now_ , Bruce."

Reluctantly, he peeks to the space below.

Once, he caught Natasha with a mouse out in a field. Seeing her play with the poor creature before finally pouncing, Bruce had thought, had been one of the more unsettling experiences of his life. Now it was the second.

Below, lounging back on a large tractor that he was certain hadn't been used in years was Loki, legs hanging over the wheel and crossed at the ankles, hands tucked behind his head. Thor was draped over his chest, legs dangling on either side while his head flopped to the side. Both were asleep.

Natasha was there in the middle of it all, lightly curled over Loki's crossed legs, tail swinging leisurely.

"Let's keep them," she suggested, entirely too self assured.

Bruce let his head fall to the floor with a hallow _thunk_.

The strange thing is, well, they--meaning mostly Thor, but Loki had somehow seemed irked as well, if the arch of his eyebrow had been any indication--actually looked offended when Loki had finally woken up to Bruce getting his pack ready.

"And you are going where?" Loki asked tartly.

"Breakfast?" Thor began hopefully, and oh, wow, that _wasn't_ a dream, the cat could talk. While Bruce gaped, Natasha flicked him with her tail affectionately and, really, _what_ had happened while he'd been asleep?

"I," he was lost. "Um. No?"

Loki looked pleased, and Thor absolutely downtrodden until Natasha nudged him and quietly led him off.

"So," Loki said conversationally, crossing his arms and leaning back against the tractor. "What is for breakfast?"

Bruce shrugged helplessly.

"Wasn't there a field nearby?"

"Of wheat, yes," he replied dryly.

Loki smiled serenely, shrugging from his perch to stride purposefully towards his broom.

"Where are you going?" Bruce asked suspiciously.

"Not very far," he replied, throwing a curious wide eyed look over his shoulder as if Bruce was an idiot. Utterly unconvinced, he opened his mouth to speak when Loki smirked at him, already lowering himself side-saddle over his broom and launching off.

It was a disaster; to be put lightly. The moment his feet left the ground, the broom refused to obey--jerking left and right in what Bruce could only call an _attempt to shake him off_. Upper lip curled in a snarl, glaring fiercely at the broom under him, Loki growled out a " _Thor,_ " before he was really off, horribly uncoordinated movements sending him bouncing off the wall and nearly braining himself on the roof before he managed to make it over the loft and what Bruce presumed out the window. A brief flash of a calico tail was Bruce's only telltale sign that Thor, too, was gone.

Mouth agape, he couldn't help but let out a semi hysterical laugh into the silence. Maybe he was still asleep?

Something brushed against his leg. Natasha had her head tilted thoughtfully at where the duo had just disappeared when he glanced down. "They're interesting." She offered, settling herself down to begin cleaning one dainty paw.

He shook his head. "We don't even know who they are."

"You had no problem falling asleep with them nearby," she pointed out. He ducked his head at the underlying reprimand. "Besides, I talked to the... Feline." Now, she looked amused. "I don't even think he's _capable_ of deceit."

"That doesn't make much sense," Bruce says, frowning.

"It does when you consider who his brother is," she shoots back, and his eyebrows furrow while she stood and lightly shook herself.

"Wait," he says. "Wait, brother?"

"I'm going hunting," she replied, ignoring him completely. "Meditate. I'll be back soon."

She's gone in a few nimble bounds, and then it's just Bruce in the little stretch of clear space by the beaten up tractor.

He takes a deep breath in through his nose. Lets it out.

"Alright then," he says to no one. He settles down behind the tractor--away from the view of the windows and door-and crosses his legs, hands clenching and unclenching on his thighs in sync with his breathing. The new, unfamiliar environment is nothing when he closes his eyes and turns inward.

As always, his power is just under the surface, rising when he turns his attention to it and lapping against his consciousness. He knows, god, he knows what kind of horrible destructive waves it can become, and how fast, how easy it is to just let go at that final moment when it becomes so overwhelming and Bruce knows he can't control it anymore.

So he breathes, nice and easy, in and out. He gets into the rhythm, letting it wash over and calm him. He can feel it leeching down into the waves, into that deep well of magic he tried unsuccessfully to tap into as little as possible.

Another reason to dislike brooms.

The cycle, the familiar, constant motion soothes. Calms. His mind is humming, but it's like a lazy drift now, a leisure float in a sea of thoughts, none of them really sticking or completely finishing until they're swirling off and being replaced with more that are gone just as quickly as the last. His muscles are relaxed, his eyes are closed. It's so nice, it's so _peaceful_ , a white void with just the sound of a steady heartbeat and continuing, uninterrupted breaths.

When Loki gets back--his arrival announced by a suspicious thump against the side of the barn and his vicious string of curses--Bruce is still in his corner, though he smiles with just a quick quirk of the lips when Loki stomps down the ladder.

"How'd it go?" He asked quietly.

He hears clothes rustle. "How do you feel about corn?" Loki asked bluntly.

With a quiet sigh equal parts acceptance and loss, Bruce opened his eyes, scooting himself across the floor so he could sit resting a shoulder and arm against the side of the back of the tractor. It's not the most comfortable position, but honestly, he doesn't feel like moving too much just yet.

Loki looked... Well, Loki looked crazy. His hair was wild, all over the place windswept, clothes dirty and stained at the cuffs and knees. His pack, slung over one shoulder and hanging against a hip, was torn and filthy. With one hand, he tossed the broom to the farthest corner of the room, upper lip curling at it before he turned away. Thor, bless him, was held under one arm with a particularly pleased look on his face and a bird in his mouth.

To Bruce's everlasting horror, the bird then _moved_.

"You didn't kill it?" He blurted, blinking furiously. Thor wiggled, and with a put-upon sigh, Loki dropped him.

When he was safely on the ground, he very gently set the bird on the earth where it immediately hopped up and twittered.

"Lady Natasha tried to teach me to hunt," Thor said sadly, and Bruce froze. _What?_ "But I could not properly exercise the stealth required for such a thing."

"So..." He began slowly, mind racing. "How did you catch that one?"

"I did not." At this, Loki opened his mouth, looking absolutely murderous. Thor barrels on cheerfully. "Loki's cloak did. I was going to put forth the skills that Lady Natasha taught me..." The cat looked equal parts fond and guilty, and Loki's mouth shut with an audible click. "...But he was scared."

"So he befriended the damned thing instead," Loki muttered, expression sour. "And now it will not leave."  
As if to confirm this, the bird hopped over and with a brief flap of its wings, perched itself rather enthusiastically on top of Thor's scruff.

 _He looked,_ Bruce couldn't help but think, _ecstatic._

Loki caught his look as he was lifting his bulging pack over his head.

"Not a word," he hissed, and Bruce lifted up his hands. He was going to have to talk to Natasha about this, because this, _this_ , it shouldn't be possible. _Too many puzzle pieces, all of them for the middle, almost none flipped right-side up,_ he mentally sighed.

Once his pack was off, Loki knelt in front of the bag, flipping open the flap and systematically taking out the contents. When Bruce got up and walked over to get a closer look, he counted at least eight ears of corn and a single loaf of bread, still emanating warmth and an aroma that made his mouth water.

"Where'd you get that?" Bruce asked, attempting to sound firm and disapproving but, oh, god, he could see the heat rising from it.

Loki only looked darkly pleased with himself. When he didn't answer, Bruce figured it for the best.

They ate the corn raw. It tasted like heaven.

The hunk of bread that he managed to catch just before it thumped him in the head(courtesy of a smirking Loki) tastes, quite simply, like _paradise_. He doesn't comment when a portion of Loki's own share is periodically fed to Thor(who is rolling around with the bird on the ground, not heeding or just ignoring the hay and dirt getting stuck in his fur) and neither does Loki.

"So..." Bruce nibbled on the last few bites of his bread. It really was good, and he's regretful to see it go so soon. "Where are you heading?"

Loki paused in the act of flicking kernels of corn at the indignantly squawking bird. "Where are _you_ going?" He counted, eyebrow arched high expectantly.

He shrugged. "North, I suppose."

"To the waters?" Loki looked thoughtful when Bruce hummed an affirmative, finishing off his bread. "Ah. There, I suppose." He went back to flicking.

Bruce blinked. "Pardon?"

"You're going North?"

He nodded again.

"To the towns and cities surrounded by the waters?"

Once more now, warily.

"So are we." Loki finished, smug.


	2. Chapter 2

The further North they go, the colder it gets.

The sun is out nearly every day, but whatever warmth it offers is lost to the brisk, chilly wind and near unbearable nights spent sometimes in sympathetic inn owners sheds(not that often) and outside, or in abandoned buildings that should have been taken down years ago(often).

Traveling with someone was... Well, it was odd. It was _refreshing_ , and then sometimes it was so exhausting he'd go off for hours at a time just to meditate or relax. Sometimes, before, he'd go a few couple days--once, six--without meditating, to see if he could control it, _him._

He meditates every night, and each morning now. Without fail.

Despite this, it was... It was nice. Not that life with Natasha had been bad, but there was a sort of novelty being able to walk and talk to someone who wasn't on four legs and whom people wouldn't feel the need to stare at him when he did.

They still did, of course. Just not because he was having a conversation with a cat.

Bruce realizes how sad it is that he's so caught up in just being able to talk to another person.

It's still nice, though.

They walk more often than not, and not only because there's just so much of brooms that he can take. It was three days into their strange little unexpected travel group before Bruce realized that Loki _couldn't fly._ Sure, he had the broom and the magic, but he literally had no idea how to direct it or make it obey.

Which made a good chunk of that puzzle fall into place. Bruce may not have liked brooms, but he'd been taught to fly, at least until his father had really gotten tired of looking at him; the idea that a magic user was _just_ learning about flying at such an age... Bruce almost couldn't comprehend it.

When they did have to fly, Bruce would trade him brooms. His was older, and despite his misgivings about it, he trusted it more than Loki's(which looked to have been brand new, dings and scrapes from rough rides aside; Bruce suspected him of having bought the thing from a market)own, so whenever it was time to fly, he'd wordlessly hand his over.

Loki had looked confused at first, then embarrassed--quickly followed by fury--before Thor managed to cajole him into taking it.

And lord, Bruce had never met a more obstinate broom than the one Loki had. He had to focus completely on controlling it, otherwise it would shake and swerve and try to _buck_ him off.

It would've been funny if it hadn't succeeded once.

But, well... Traveling with Loki was, like he said, nice. Exasperating sometimes, sure, and there's been more than his fair share of wondering if he should just leave. In the night, whenever Loki went to get them food, early in the morning while he was still asleep. He'd be lying if he said he'd never packed and picked up his broom to do just that.

He's not sure what kept him. Maybe Natasha's patient stare, maybe the idea that there was actually someone willing to travel with him...

He glances sideways at Loki. They were walking again, making their way through a small fishing town that was little more than a village. The smell of fish and bait hung heavily in the air, and every so often Thor and Natasha would twitch their noses or sneeze, though he'd never seen Natasha quite so relaxed as she was now; curled lax around his neck, her tail barely flicked, head resting boneless on his shoulder.

Thor looked as if he'd never seen or smelled anything like it, bouncing nimbly around Loki and sniffing anything and everything he could. Maybe he hadn't.

The weather wasn't as miserable as it had been the last few days; in fact, it was one of the few really warm days they'd had since meeting. The only reason they were still wearing their jackets--well, too big jacket for him, signature cloak for Loki--was to avoid the only slight chill from the breeze as it gently blew in the mist from off the water.

"Shall we settle down here for the night?" Loki asks lowly, sending distrustful looks at anyone who did more than glance at them, which essentially amounted to _everyone._

Bruce glances up at the sky where the sun was barely beginning to lean towards the West. He turned toward an aged man sitting under a stoop, gnarled hands wrist deep in netting. "Excuse me?"

The old man didn't even glance up. "Hm?"

"How far is the next town from here?"

Now he did; head raising lazily while sunken, brilliantly blue eyes took them in. When he grunted, his entire torso shook. "What sort folks'er you?" He asked, voice little more than a rasp.

Bruce smiled politely. "Magic. Wizards."

"Hn. Don't see much of you people 'round parts like these."

"We're just passing through, really."

"Hn." He grunted again. "Just as well. Yeah, there's a town after this'n. Cross the water, though; takes a day by boat." He squinted at Bruce thoughtfully. "You lookin' for a boat too?"

Bruce shoot his head. "No, we'll manage. Thank you, and enjoy your evening." The old man looked amused, but he grunts and nods back anyway.

It's only when he begins walking again that he realizes Loki is silent and tense beside him, practically vibrating with restrained energy. Natasha raises her head, murmurs a wary "Bruce..." In his ear, and he furrows his brows.

"Loki?" He begins, hesitant. The young wizard looks as if he's struggling for words for a moment before he looks at Bruce from under lowered eyebrows and hisses, "You _told_ him!"

He blinked. "What?"

"That man. You _told_ him we were..." He gestured, and even Thor was looking wide eyed and worried.

"...Wizards?" Bruce realized, still not entirely comprehending.

" _Yes_!"

"I..." Bruce glanced around helplessly, uncomfortable and wondering if he'd crossed some invisible line. He didn't _think_ so, but then again, he hadn't really talked to another magic wielder in years. Who knew what sort of thing was socially unacceptable now days? If there was some line he'd crossed--or if Loki was uncomfortable being outed in such a way--they really shouldn't be walking around then with _brooms_ and _cats._

So what was the problem?

Beside him, Loki looked like he couldn't decide between looking peeved or nonplussed. Utterly confused, Bruce said, "I'm sorry?"

Loki froze, eyes wide and cutting to Bruce's before narrowing in such a calculating way that he instinctively tensed, a hint of something else in his eyes that sort of looked like--no, that couldn't be _embarrassment_ , could it?

"Is it not..." He looked like he was having difficulty spitting the words out. "Unacceptable to publicly announce a magical status?"

This was doing nothing to alleviate his confusion, but a knot had formed in the pit of his stomach, along with an uncomfortable idea of why he was acting so aghast... "Um, no?"

His face cleared, mouth forming a small 'o' before it snapped closed and he looked away.

"I see," he said tightly. Beside him, Thor was much more subdued, ears and head low as he walked. Neither looked inclined to say anything more on the subject, so he shared a brief look with Natasha before continuing on.

They didn't say anything more, and the silence weighed heavy on them all. It was a little after noon when they reached the harbor, empty but for a few children playing in the water with tree-limb poles and knitted nets. When they stopped in front of a peer, Bruce glanced over casually at Loki.

"Want to lift off here? Or would you rather stay for the night?" He asked. After Loki's earlier minor fit over the wizard issue, he wasn't quite sure how the other boy would react to such a public display of his powers, especially if his question had been anything to go by.

Looking thoughtful for a moment before grinning viciously was not what Bruce had been expecting, though.

"Here is fine." Loki said, all sharp eyes and too many teeth showing in his smile. Without hesitance, as if he was too eager to wait to start--or as if he was ripping off a bandaid--Loki was up and in the air before Bruce had a chance to give him his broom, Thor leaping and attaching himself to his cloak, clawing his way up.

To his surprise, Loki's broom only put up a token of fuss before settling into what he could only describe as reluctant compliance.

In his ear, Natasha purred. With only minimal reluctance on Bruce's behalf, he too mounted and rose. The children's gasps and excited chattering had half a smile spreading over his face.

He caught up to Loki minutes later, Thor taking the Natasha approach and handling himself over Loki's shoulder to peer around curiously.

Bruce has no idea what must be going through his mind, and if he were being honest, he wasn't about to ask. If and when the time came to part ways, he had no doubts that it would be difficult and very possibly painful on his part; there was no need to add to it.

It wasn't as if they were _close_ , per se, but Loki was the first magical person he'd had an extended interaction with. He was a little attached, and that, that was something he'd berated himself against for as long--if not longer--as he'd been traveling. Loki was allowed to keep his secrets. And, honestly... Bruce just didn't want to get that much more involved.

It'd just be harder all around.

"Magic is not... Common, where we are from." It was _Thor_ who spoke, and Bruce looked over sharply. Loki was staring straight ahead, jaw clenched, while Thor was staring down at the wide expanse of clear blue water below them.

And, damn him, Bruce couldn't find it in himself to tell them it wasn't necessary, he understood, there was no need to go on.

"Those who are gifted keep it to themselves. Rarely do they even confess their talents to loved ones," Thor went on quietly, and on his shoulders, Natasha shifted restlessly. "To confess such a status to a stranger on the street? It is... Unthinkable."

"That's why you looked so surprised," Bruce blurted, staring wide eyed at Loki, who snorted.

"Quite."

"But..." He hesitated, and only went on when Loki gestured impatiently. "Well, if that's true, um, wouldn't displays of magic be...?"

"Essentially unheard of."

"Then why would you...?" He nodded toward obedient broom.

It was Thor who spoke, voice as dry as dust, "Because he _could._ "

Loki barked out a laugh. With Natasha's tail gently brushing his jaw with every swing, Bruce allowed himself to relax. Just a little.

The rest of the trip is passed in companionable silence. By the time they finally reach the town, the sun was just beginning to set, the temperature dipping to barely above tolerable. Thor had long since crawled into Loki's cloak, curling himself up on the boys lap with his face buried against his paws.

This high up, the town was engulfed in a soft glow of light. To the left, across a large flowing river that separates the two, there's a city lit bright and fierce enough that if they were any closer, Bruce was sure it'd make his eyes throb. Half a bridge is constructed on the city's side, extending out and ending in the middle of the water as it reached toward the town. He could nearly make out the construction equipment.

Beside him, Loki yawns. "Well?"

And honestly, Bruce just does not want to deal with everything looking for shelter in a city would entail right now. He glances at the town, opens his mouth to ask, but Loki is already shrugging and flying low towards it.

The low hum in the back of Natasha's throat indicates that yes, she is amused. He mutters at her under his breath, because really, isn't she suppose to be on _his_ side? Her only reply is to flick him again with her tail.

He touches down next to a bored looking Loki in the middle of an abandoned street, head ducking low and standing still, listening.

It's strangely homey, the stone buildings leaking their warm yellow glow out into the street. With the lights inside flickering, shadows play across the buildings and street; instead of eery, the effect was cozy, lending a strange sort of comfort to the outside atmosphere. The sky is still more blue than black just yet, the stars barely pinpricks. It's an unspoken unanimous agreement that they begin to walk, silent but for their footsteps echoing down the street.

Natasha hasn't left her perch from his shoulder, quietly opting to wrap herself just the barest bit tighter around his neck, tail leisurely swishing back and forth. Bruce couldn't quite see with Loki's cloak in the way, but only one hand was visible holding his broom and Thor was no where in sight--and he had a lingering suspicion that the feline was curled very securely with one arm to a warm chest hidden under a dark green cloak.

He doesn't say anything, but the way Loki catches him looking curiously and responding with narrowed eyes has him smothering a laugh beneath his hand.

That's when it all goes to hell.

The next thing Bruce knows, he's staring up in a daze at the twilight sky, shoulders burning from where Natasha's claws had dragged just before she leaped away and ears ringing. There's an angry shout from somewhere, pounding footsteps echoing hard all around, but the world around him is still spinning just a bit so he keeps his head down and breathes deeply.

"Bruce?" Natasha asks, low and quiet as her cold nose nudges his cheek.

"Huh," he says eloquently.

After a moment, Loki's face enters his vision, upper lip curled in disgust. "You did that on purpose," he accused. There's another face, one Bruce doesn't recognize, but who looks equally pissed off and amused.

"Hi there," the stranger says apologetically. "I see you've met one of the little monsters. Sorry 'bout that."

Bruce blinks. "It's... Okay?" He offers, and Loki rolls his eyes. The stranger laughs, hooks his hands under Bruces' shoulders and then literally _hoists him effortlessly_ onto his feet. He staggers but somehow manages to keep his footing. Beside him, Natasha sits and watches.

"I'm Clint. I run--or, well, half run--the local B and B around here." He glances over his shoulder; when Bruce looks, too, he can see the distant figures of two people facing eachother. Faintly, raised voices drifted back to them. The man winced. "Shit. Uh, listen, sorry, I should probably go--" The voices were louder now, and he sighed. "--Break that up. Look, don't go anywhere, okay? My partner will be over in a minute to talk with you guys." With that, he jogs off.

Bruce waits a solid three minutes, shifting his weight from foot to foot, before he turns ever so casually to the side and mutters to Loki, "We need to go."

Without a word, he tilts his head toward Bruce, eyes lit curiously.

"I've learned that when people tell you not to go anywhere, you usually should." He elaborates with a wry smile. Loki's eyebrow arches, but he doesn't argue, instead humming noncommittally and spinning to take off with long, brisk strides. Bruce is right on his heels.

They don't have any real destination. There's no one else out, but they--or Bruce, at least--memorizes alleys and twists and turns. It's late when they finally find their way to a small little stretch of beach, and Bruce has memorized quite a bit of the landscape. The stars are bright now, more so the further in towards the town than the city they can see from the sandy bank.

Loki marches out into the middle of it, settling himself down onto the sand before laying down fully. There's a distinct bulge on his stomach, though his cloak is still hiding it, and after a moment Bruce follows his lead. Natasha follows, barely leaving paw prints in the sand, and when he's laying down with his pack under his head she leaps and settles herself down on his chest.

It's a little too cold to be sleeping outside, but the stars are twinkling, and the sound of the waves of water gently lapping at the shore is soothing. His heart starts beating in time, and Natasha is a comforting weight above him. A lazy glance to his side confirms Loki's already asleep, chest rising and falling evenly and cloak peeking open just enough to reveal he was right--Thor is curled up on his stomach, one arm wrapped protectively around the feline.

He's asleep before he can remember that he forgot to meditate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was excited about this chapter. Not a lot of dialogue, but hey, Clint was in it! And a distant, very pissed off Phil! You all have no idea how many times I almost wrote the word "muggle" in here. 
> 
> (Hint: It's a lot.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All my apologies, ladies and gentlemen, for this late chapter. I've literally been sick as a dog. Also I'm going through Doctor Who. Don't blink.

Bruce wakes up with a jolt, only to slam shut his eyes to block out the too bright, painful ray of sunshine he'd jerked his head towards.

Something nudges his shoulder, and somewhere to his left, Natasha hisses.

"Hey man, wanna calm your pussy cat there? It looks about three seconds away from launching itself toward some very important bits that I need." The new voice sounds more amused than alarmed, not even bothering to ask why there's a couple of strangers with cats passed out on the beach, and Bruce rolls to his side hoping the stranger is making conclusions in his head that they're both just drunkards, because anything would be safer than being caught out like this and having others assume-

"Oh, hey, you've got a broom." The stranger says, tone dipping a little in the beginning before rising in faux cheerfulness that sets Bruces' teeth on edge.

"I do." He says, planting his hands and knees into the sand before staggering up.

"I suppose that makes you a witch, eh? Or, hey, both of you." When Bruce gets enough of his sight back to actually see the stranger, the man--boy, really--is staring over at a lightly snoring Loki who's clutching a fistful of Thor's fur in one hand lightly, and his broom in the other.

"Just me," Bruce replies evenly, and can see from the corner of his eye how Natasha is already closest to Loki, pawing at Thor's nose while she kept her eyes trained on the newcomer.

"Oh please," he snorts, cocking his hip out and sliding down his sunglasses enough to send Bruce a ' _are you really serious right now?_ ' look over them. "Two brooms, two cats, and don't even think about making a ' _I'm twice the witch_ ' or whatever comment because it won't be appreciated. Well, maybe a little. But I won't admit it."

And, damn it, maybe it's because he's just woken up or he's still so damn tired, but Bruce lets out a startled laugh.

"I... I wouldn't dream of it?" He offers, though he still edges closer to Loki. The boy smirks.

"Oh good, okay, we're getting off on the right foot then. Sup, Tony Stark, hey, how you doin'?" He offered a hand. Bruce stared at it. "You're suppose to shake it. Or kiss it. Would you prefer to kiss it?" At this, he turned his hand over, as if expecting Bruce to take it in both of his and press a kiss to the top of it.

The mental image had him going red and maybe just a tiny, little bit crazy.

He tried to subtly kick sand onto Loki's front, but judging by the strangers wide grin, it probably didn't go unnoticed.

He hurriedly clasps hands instead, shaking and ducking his head in slightly embarrassment.

"Bruce. Hi."

"Just Bruce?" Tony grins wider, knocking his head back and sliding his glasses back into place. "Cool, I can dig it. Like a singer, right? Hip, happenin', whatever. So, uh, no offense, not like I'm judging or anything, I'm really the last person to do that on passing out at all, but," he glances around, and Bruce winces. "Was it like a bucket list kinda thing or were you two stoned out of your mind? 'Cause I don't see any beer bottles."

"No? We're, uh, we just got in. Late, last night."

"Not," Loki says from behind him, lounging now in the sand with both hands tucked neatly behind his head and completely expressionless to the point that even Bruce steps a little bit away. "That it's really any of your business."

"Sassy," Tony says, showing a little more teeth in his smile, and alright, Bruce is just backing away from both of them now, except--well, except his hand is still caught and, yes, yes, Natasha has noticed.

The boy jumps about three feet in the air, wheeling backwards when Natasha stalks up and swipes her claws with a warning hiss. "Jesus! Down, Spot!"

"Spot, really," Loki drawls, shit eating grin blatantly obvious in his tone if not on his face. "I think that's fitting more for a canine, don't you?"

"Dogs, cats, whatever, they shed and are living and no, no thank you." He stared down at the now dead silent Natasha warily, taking another step back. "No," he repeated firmly. "Thank you." A noise ahead of them makes their heads turn, and Bruce realizes it's a car honking when the top part of a head is peeking over the railing separating street from beach. The redhead is scowling.

"Tony," she calls out darkly, and she leans further out over it, eyes narrowing. "Where the hell have you been?"

"Look Pep," Tony says, holding up his hand and wow he's still holding Bruces' hand. _How in the--_ "I made friends."

Behind him, pausing in the act of brushing sand from his cloak, Loki snorted.

"One of them is a smartass," he goes on in that same cheerful tone. "How great is that?"

"Perfect." She deadpans. "Just what I need, more of you. Get in the stupid car. You're late."

Tony blows a kiss, and with a huff, the girl is off. A moment later he turns back to face Bruce, grinning, though it's less wild than his first, a little dim. "Alright, that's it, folks, my slavedriver is a'callin' me back. It's been a hopefully mutual pleasure." He tilted his head, sun shining in his face just enough for Bruce to catch a glimpse through the dark shades as he winked, and wiggled free from his grasp. "Except for you," he says over Bruces' shoulder at Loki. "You frighten me."

"Good." He purred back, and Tony made a face before giving a brief wave and jogging back up to the street. Silence descends over them all, and Bruce glances down at Natasha giving him a deadpan stare.

"What?" Bruce asks maybe a tad defensively. Loki, now shaking out his back and Thor, looks up and chuckles. " _What_?"

"Nothing." He says, an unholy gleeful light in his eyes. "Shall we be going?"

After sending another perplexed and maybe a little helpless look at Natasha, who ignores it with the easy going grace of many years of practice, they rid themselves of as much sand from their persons as they can manage and climb to the street. It couldn't have been too early; the streets were bustling with people, enough for them to have to weave their way in and out of people murmuring polite excuses, awkwardly hugging their brooms to their bodies as Thor and Natasha(mostly Natasha) gracefully dodged between and around legs.

"Do we have a specific destination in mind?" Loki asked in undertones, close to Bruces' side and doing his best to avoid an unnecessary contact with others. "Or is our main purpose to wander aimlessly among this town until we are eventually robbed and beaten in some filthy little alleyway?"

Bruce shushes him, doing so again when the other wizard makes an offended noise and opens his mouth to no doubt start an argument. "We're getting the," he has to think about it. "The feel of it? We're just trying to figure out what our options are, alright?"

"Shelter and food." Natasha murmurs from somewhere near his right, and Bruce ducks his head in acknowledgement, obediently repeating, "Shelter and food."

They walk, Loki keeping a few paces behind Bruce and, when he looked, glaring at those who passed too close.

He'd occasionally catch glimpses of Thor and Natasha in his peripheral vision, but mostly they were lost in the sea of bodies. Admittedly, he was a bit surprised at how, well, graceful Thor seemed to be in the crowd of people bustling back and forth. They passed shop after shop, some filled with little trinkets obviously meant for tourists, others with candles and incense, dried herbs hanging in the window fronts.

"I see no reason in why we're not flying," Loki muttered, and Bruce had just opened his mouth to reply when something heavy and unyielding landed on his shoulder, gripping firm and stopping him mid step, and the result was instantaneous; his heart sped up almost painfully quick, pounding hard in his chest and making the blood buzz in his ears. A low snarled curse confirmed that Loki was caught just as he was, and his grip tightened on his broom, already noting there were too many people, pressing in too much to take advantage of to twist from their captors hands and disappear into, Bruce struggled to keep his breathing even-

"Hey, hey, guys, calm down." He jerked, head whipping to the side to blink dumbly at the familiar face. "Seriously, calm down. Remember me? Clint? Last night? One of the little bastards ran you over?"

Beside him, Loki hissed, twitching against the hold, though his expression had morphed from outrage to suspicion as he half turned to study the man.

"B and B, remember? You guys skipped out before Phil had a chance to catch up with you." He half grinned, though his eyes were serious. "Lucky for you, we'd already spent most of the night chasing one of the kids."

Just as Bruce was tensing up again--because really, when had that ever been uttered as an innocent statement--a new voice drawled from behind them, calm and quiet though it was clearly distinct through the chatter of the crowds.

"Clint, let go of them. They're not going to bolt; and if they are, that's their decision." The new man said, voice utterly wry though the corners of his lips did quirk up a bit when he nodded at Bruce and Loki. "I apologize for my idiot partner. Hello, I'm Phil."

"Oh, _you're_ Phil," Loki drawls sarcastically, because Bruce is pretty sure he is incapable of shutting the hell up.

"Yes. I'm Phil. You two must be the ones Clint told me about last night; thank you for your indirect help last night. I hope you weren't hurt too badly?" He asked Bruce directly, and he ducked his head, chest shuddering a little bit with the effort of calming his breathing.

"I... I'm fine. Thank you for your concern." He croaked.

"Not at all. It was one of our boys, and we take that responsibility very seriously." Phil said solemnly. "Despite what you've been led to believe so far, those in our care are not manner less hoodlums. Johnny would like to apologize to you."

Bruce lowered his head, quickly confirming that no, it was only just their small group that was paying any attention to each other in front of the shop. When he glanced back at Phil, the man looked subtle, equal parts amused and apologetic.

"Johnny is currently grounded," he clarified. "You two would have to come to the shop." He tilted his head, then asked, as if the answer made no real difference, "Would you two like to come to the shop?"

"We have beds." Clint singsonged behind them. "No offense, but yeah, you two look like shit."

That earned an exasperated look from Phil, but Bruce was glancing sideways at Loki, whose lips were turned down in a fierce and not entirely surprising frown. He looked back up to Phil, and by the way he was already dipping his head in acknowledgement, the man knew his answer.

"We've got food," Clint went on.

From the corner of his eye, Bruce could literally see Loki perk up. "Cat food?" He asked cautiously, casting a suspicious look behind him.

"...If you're hungry for it, uh, sure. But regular, human food too."

"Alright." He nodded. Phil didn't let on he was too surprised by this development past an arched eyebrow, but Bruce was having a bit of a difficult time stopping his incredulous staring.

"What?" He asked, and Clint laughed, slapping him hard enough on the back to have him pitch forward.

"Atta boy! Alright, let's go. You guys can stuff your faces, Johnny can apologize, and we'll all have fun stories to put in the Christmas letters." He said cheerfully, hustling them all--Phil included-- through the crowd. Bruce had no choice but to follow, resigned and wary.

Though his eyes habitually drift to the ground as they walk, Bruce doesn't catch sight of Natasha or Thor as they make their way to wherever it is they're going. He knows she's there, more likely than not guiding Thor in and out of the shadows, and that is enough to keep him from bolting.

Also, Loki had one of his packs straps twisted in a complicated knot around his hand and wrist; he really couldn't escape even if he (really)wanted to, and it was a little ridiculous, a little stifling, but it was... Nice, too.

They make it to their destination in less time than Bruce would've figured, given how many streets and winding secret alley's there were from what he had seen from last night. It's a cozy looking building, taking up a good portion of the street in width alone.

It's old, obviously seeing better days though it doesn't look too bad at first glance. It was painted a slate gray, windows wide and open and inviting, and curtains were actually flowing out of them caught in the breeze. A small child was sweeping up in front, brown hair neatly combed and a slight sulking frown on his face. When he looked up and spotted them, it only deepened.

"Peter tattled to Sue on me," the boy said, righteous fury evident in his face.

"And what exactly did you do to warrant tattling?" Phil asked dryly, and the boy immediately hunched his shoulders, eyes shifting around warily.

"Nothing."

"Sorry, Reed, you let your game face slip." Clint says serious from behind them. Bruce glances up, and the man is smirking. "Negative five points."

The boy groaned. " _Clint_!"

"We have guests," Phil admonished, cutting in as he stepped up and sent the boy a firm look. "Behave yourself. Where's Sue?"

"Inside, cooking," he muttered, petulant, before glancing up and squinting at them. "Who are these guys?"

"This is..." A long, drawn out pause. Phil actually turns around to shoot him an unimpressed stare. "...Our new guests."

"Loki." Loki says. "I am Loki."

Bruce dips his head. "Bruce Banner." He feels her before her see's her, Natasha brushing by his leg before she comes into his line of sight as he glances down, cocking her head at him expectantly. "This is Natasha."

"This-" Loki begins, and Bruce realizes that he's trying to introduce Thor, who launches himself with startling agility to cling onto Loki's cloak.

"I am Thor, new friends!" The cat says excitedly, wiggling. "Who are all of you?"

There are fewer people passing them as they stand in front of the building, and Thor's voice is nearly lost in the constant chatter, could almost be mistaken for one of them or a stranger talking, except they were all watching the cat open its mouth and speak to them, so that hope is slim to none. Bruce lets his shoulders slowly drop, even as he reaches out to take Loki's arm so they can bolt.

"Oh," Clint says. Phil doesn't even bat an eye, and the boy--Reed--is staring with such open awe, Bruce is reflexively blinking. "The cat talks. Okay, cool. I'm Clint. That's Phil and Reed. We've got food inside, but no getting up on the counters, and definitely no winding in between my damn legs when I'm getting you food so I end up tripping or shit, okay?"

Thor lets out a truly ridiculously loud purr while Natasha quietly mutters, "We'll see about that."

The thing was, once Bruce really sat down and ate, he didn't want to move.

Not ever.

It was kind of embarrassing, since he wasn't altogether sure that he could move. Once the apologies had been made(Johnny, Bruce had found, got along ridiculously well with Loki once he'd stopped glaring at the wall or floor and apologized to Bruce for running into him) and he had forcefully relaxed himself into the chair, a girl--Sue, she had introduced herself as, all warm eyes and a slightly mischievous smile--came out with something steaming in her hands that, quite simply, Bruce would have unashamedly pounced on as soon as she set it down.

A younger boy followed her, utensils and napkins held in his arms as he trotted up to pass them out at the table with a shy smile. Sue introduced him as Peter, and he ducked his head bashfully.

"This is amazing." Bruce said, eyes going wide and then slowly, reverently falling to halfmast as he studied the food on the plate in front of him. "Really, it's incredible."

"You guys look like you haven't had a decent damn meal in days," Johnny comments from the other end of the table. "I could probably give you a big heaping helping of pig shi-"

"John." Phil says, voice without inflection as he cut into his own meal.

"...Slop and you'd think it was heaven," he finished, shit-eating grin in place.

Loki hid a snort, surreptitiously checking beside him that Thor was still happily digging into whatever Clint had put into his bowl. Beside Bruce, Natasha was doing the same, although with much less enthusiasm and a tad more reserve and manners.

"I'm glad you like it." Sue said warmly, smiling at him before shooting a dark look over at Johnny, who held his hands up defensively.

"So," Clint said happily around half a loaf of bread stuffed into his mouth. "Loki, you can bunk with Reed. Bruce, I figure after Johnny, you can get your own room."

"...What?"

**Author's Note:**

> Any and all miscalculations, inaccuracies and things that just make you go " _What the hell?_ ", I would greatly appreciate being pointed out. Thank you for your time, ladies and gentlemen. I'm off to sob myself to sleep at what I've done.


End file.
